


The Punchline to the Joke is Asking

by nobody_of_importance



Category: Fall Out Boy, My Chemical Romance, Panic! at the Disco
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-07-09
Updated: 2014-07-09
Packaged: 2018-02-08 02:40:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 20,081
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1923651
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nobody_of_importance/pseuds/nobody_of_importance
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Cyn has lived on the streets of New York for most of her life, playing her guitar just to scrape by. She's been avoiding her past like there's no tomorrow, and just rolls with whatever life throws at her - one of the many things she's learned the hard way since she made it to NYC.<br/>When her playing attracts two strange men in Central Park, Cyn suddenly finds her life turned upside down as Fall Out Boy steals her away for a life of luxury with famous friends like Panic! At The Disco, My Chemical Romance, and more.<br/>As wonderful as everything Cyn's ever wanted sounds, there are some small problems: her past, from her final days in NY to all the way back to when she still had a family, and some future issues, like falling in love...<br/>What's a street kid to do?<br/>This is her story.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [The Punchline to the Joke is Asking](https://archiveofourown.org/external_works/60270) by nobody of importance (my mibba account). 



> This is a re-working of a story of mine that was pretty popular on Mibba, despite it being a train wreck written by an angsty teen. I'm hoping to breathe a little new, more mature life into it.

The girl was slouched on a park bench playing a battered acoustic guitar, leaning over the instrument and not caring that her choppy brown hair screened her face from sight. Her loose My Chemical Romance t shirt and baggy, faded jeans - which were riddled with holes - seemed to swallow the skinny, pale kid. The black "X" inked on the back of each hand stood out starkly against her pale skin, both marred here and there by scar tissue.  
There was an open guitar case perched haphazardly on the edge of the bench beside her, with a cardboard sign on which she'd scrawled "Starving Artist." A modest amount of spare change, a few singles, and even a five dollar bill had been scattered on the worn out fabric that lined the black plastic, but it was barely enough for a coffee those days, let alone a meal.  
The young woman was playing 'Polly' by Nirvana, intentionally ignoring the few people who'd stopped to watch. That was normal. After the song, they'd either drop some cash or just walk away. She wasn't going to beg them for money - she had never begged before, and never would beg for anything in her life.  
The kid slid easily from one song into the next, still trying not to acknowledge the fact that the people standing there hadn't moved, and even stuck around for her next re-imagining of pop's greatest hits.  
When they were still there after that song, the urchin turned her head up to face the duo, not bothering to shake her messy hair out of the way- it was a rat's nest, anyway.  
"C'n I help you?" When speaking, her voice was just as confident as when she sang, though she wasn't exactly warm to the strangers standing before her.  
"We're just listening." Said one of the men. They only seemed a few years older than the seasoned street kid, and there were two of them. She decided she could take them if she had to.  
"Cool." The young woman shrugged, returning her attention to the guitar. She hadn't stopped tooling around with random chords while addressing the men.  
"Know anything by Fall Out Boy?" Asked the second of the two strangers.  
The kid didn't answer, but instead started 'It's Not A Side Effect Of The Cocaine, So I Am Thinking It Must Be Love' almost automatically. The strangers murmured to each other as the girl just kept playing, slipping into a Panic! At The Disco song when she'd finished, figuring the pair would know the tune.  
"Can you play anything faster?" The second man seemed intent on stumping her.  
"Yeah, but it sounds funky on an acoustic." The young woman shrugged, still doddling out random notes.  
"Try it." He said mildly, but the challenge in his voice was clear.  
The young woman ripped out a Guns 'N' Roses tune on her acoustic nearly breaking a string in the process.  
"I like you, kid, what's your name?" The nosy man asked, when she was done with the song.  
"Cyn." The mellow reply came with a lazy nod as the woman looked up at them again, still doodling out random chords. This time, she shook her hair away from one eye, sizing the men up.  
Joe Trohman and Pete Wentz were eyeing the girl in the same way.  
"How old are you, anyway?" Asked Joe. The lisp meant he was nosy's companion.  
"19." Cyn quirked an eyebrow, flipping the rest of her locks out of the way, her attention piqued.  
"If we wanted you on a plane to Chicago to see about a recording contract, how soon could you be ready?" Pete asked yet another question.  
Cyn dropped the guitar in its case on top of the weatherbeaten sign. "All packed." She raised both eyebrows, thinking herself witty for calling the rock star's bluff.  
"Good job." Pete grinned eagerly, and Joe smirked like the kid had passed some kind of test. Without warning, Pete grabbed Cyn's wrist and hauled her off the bench. Cyn instinctively grabbed the guitar case as she followed the short man down the path.  
"Can you write anything on your own?" Pete kept up his questioning even as he towed the musician along, Joe keeping pace a beat behind his friend, flanking their new recruit, his hands buried in his pockets.  
"Yeah. I write a lot, but I don't tell anybody- I'm nobody, which means anybody could steal it."  
Pete flashed another crooked, if cynical, grin. "Smart kid."  
"I'm not a kid." Cyn scowled, but neither man acknowledged her protest.  
Cyn soon found herself stumbling across the threshold into a ritzy hotel, and immediately received mass amounts of disapproving looks from the building's staff and regulars - they'd all seen that dirty street girl panhandling in the park. Cyn met their stares defiantly, glaring right back at them. _Look at me now_.  
Cyn wound up pulled all the way to a swanky suite on the top floor, hustled quickly inside and all but pushed down on the pristine, soft couch.  
Patrick Stump and Andy Hurley were relaxing on the opposite couch, suddenly losing interest in their phones, both shooting Pete a look that said they weren't too surprised before focusing in on the dirty, young stranger with a guitar case.  
Pete and Joe settled down with their band mates and stared over the glass coffee table at the street urchin, all four men staring intently, as if waiting to be interviewed.  
Cyn simply stared back, raising a skeptical eyebrow. "Why...?"  
"Because you can sing and play the guitar." Pete answered, childishly beating around the bush.  
"Many people can."  
"But you're _better_ than many people." Pete grinned as if he'd won a bet.  
"Thanks." Cyn smiled sarcastically, realizing that she would have to be a lot more specific so that this wish-granter wouldn't burn her with loopholes. "But why am I here, being stared at?"  
"Because you're getting signed to Decaydance2, and we're asking you questions." Joe piped up.  
"What questions are you guys asking?."  
"Who are you?" Andy finally chimed in.  
"Cyn." A careless shrug accompanied the simple answer.  
"Where're you from?" Pete continued in a sing-song voice. The young woman ha encountered people like him before; she knew it was best to just be straight with them... while still playing their stupid loophole game.  
"The park." Pretending to casually inspect her dirty fingernails, Cyn watched the men carefully through her eyelashes, noting the men's reactions.  
Joe tilted his head to the side, and Andy and Patrick looked surprised. Pete was hard to read, but seemed pleased. The short man seemed to be as much of a fan of mind games as the girl fancied herself to be.  
"You're a hobo? But you're not gross." Patrick frowned slightly in confusion.  
"I shower and do laundry pretty often. There's a shelter on Fifth." Another shrug, hand still resting - though loosely, now - on the handle of the guitar case, always ready to bolt.  
"Have you ever high jacked a car?" Pete went the direct and serious route, only for Cyn to laugh.  
"Nah, man, I can't even drive. I wouldn't know how to put it in gear!" Shaking her head, the young woman ran her free hand through her hair absentmindedly. "I can hotwire 'em just fine, but I'm no car jack."  
"Ever break into a house or anything? Try illegal drugs?" Pete continued shamelessly, and his friends looked embarrassed by the probing.  
"I can pick locks but I've never broken in anywhere, and I'm straight edge." Cyn flashed the tattoos on her hands, her mouth twisting to one side in irritation. She wasn't a fan of drugs - they had ended a lot of lives on the street, and she wanted nothing to do with them.  
Pete grinned apologetically. "They could've been just an alibi so people would give you cash."  
"Dude, if there's one thing I try for, it's honesty." Cyn met Pete's eyes, shoulders squared and jaw set stubbornly.  
"So how old are you?" Pete asked again, and Joe shot his friend a look before refocusing on the kid.  
"19." Cyn said defiantly, staring Pete down as she pursed her lips, trying not to smile sarcasticlly. "I said 'try', remember?"  
*  
*  
Wyatt just stared at the homeless girl sitting in his office for a minute, then Pete, then at Cyn again. Finally, he just sighed and sat down, defeated. Pete grinned like a madman.  
"Do what you want. You always do." Wyatt said tiredly, waving his hand at Pete and turning his computer towards the younger musician. "Just... where'd you dig this one up?" The vice president of Decaydance2 eyed Cyn again, but the kid only smiled back, sarcastically sweet.  
"Central Park." Pete answered cheerfully, typing away at the laptop.  
Soon, he had a contract for Cyn to look at. She skimmed it quickly, realizing that it had the potential to completely turn her life around. Pete had taken care of the street urchin pretty well, giving her creative freedom and the last word on everything from harmonies to lyrics to equipment, and then the poor girl spotted what she'd be making. Cyn's eyes glazed over as her brain all but stopped working.  
"What, don't like it?" Pete asked, glancing at the computer screen again, as if a problem would highlight itself for him.  
"No, it's great... that's just a lot of money for a street kid to make." Cyn blinked, the gears in her head starting to roll again.  
Pete laughed. "You'll get used to it, kid."

"Alright kid, show us what you've got." Pete commanded, as Cyn sat down with him, Patrick, and her beat-up acoustic.  
"Well, d'ya wanna hear the stuff I wrote that I like, or the stuff that sounds nice and cookie-cutter?" Cyn asked slowly, carefully adjusting the tuning of her guitar. It had been years since she'd broken a string.  
"Which do you want to show us?" Patrick cut in before Pete could answer for once, smiling encouragingly.  
Cyn regarded them for a moment, then played a nice, run-of-the-mill punk pop song.  
"That was decent. I like the riff- what key are you in?" Patrick asked, but Pete interjected before his new talent could get a word in.  
"That was good, but there's no feeling." Pete interrupted, studying his fingernails in boredom, and Cyn felt like she’d failed a test.  
"I dunno, man. My head's pretty screwed when I start spitting out the stuff I like." Cyn was toying with the guitar strings, not looking at either of her mentors.  
"Screwed how?" Pete asked, and Cyn could feel that he meant something else. She knew that this was a test, too.  
So Cyn set her shoulders and started to play.  
" _Walk past my grave in the dark tonight, saw the stone and the note you left for me. To answer your question, I just had to leave, I just had to leave. But that's not why I'm here_..." She played through the whole sorry song, then worked up the courage to stare defensively at the two men coaching her.  
Pete looked satisfied. "Brilliant."  
"How did you learn to play the guitar?" Patrick asked, finally tossing a question the homeless kid was okay with answering.  
Cyn grinned crookedly but sincerely for once. "I didn't. I traded for this," She ran her hand lovingly down the stings. "And just started messing around. I figured out what sounded good, and played around with it. I just know how to make my guitar sing."  
"That's phenomenal." Patrick said, impressed.  
"I have a new protégée." Pete grinned at Patrick, ecstatic, then returned his attention to his student. "From the top."

Cyn went back to her tiny apartment. _Her apartment._ Having been homeless for most of her life, the words felt strange enough just in Cyn's thoughts; she didn't dare say them aloud, for fear it would wake her from the bizarre but happy dream she found herself living. The record company had paid Cyn an advance, so she'd gotten the tiny place, new clothes, and a simple cell phone. Cyn also splurged on an electric guitar, which she kept right next to her much-loved acoustic.  
Cyn started when her phone buzzed in her pocket, still unused to having one, and found a text from Joe upon checking the device.  
 **Come hang out at Pete's**  
 _OKSY_ Cyn had improved greatly after several days of owning a cell phone, but even autocorrect couldn't save every one of her texts as she fumbled around with the keys.  
She waltzed out the door, sauntering down the sidewalk to the Pete's place. That's where they always were. Pete had actually been the one to suggest the apartment Cyn now lived in; he liked having his friends and projects close by.  
I went right inside and was immediately tackled by the Pete and Joe, as well as a young man I hadn't met before.  
"A simple 'hi' would suffice, guys." Cyn sat up, dislodging the guys and shoving them off of her as they laughed, poking the stranger. "And you, do you always leap all over young ladies you've just met? Shame on you." I teased.  
"Only the pretty ones." He said innocently, with a wicked grin, then extended his hand. "Brendon Urie."  
"Cyn." She grinned back, taking his calloused palm in hers.  
"Aw, look, the new kid made a friend." Pete teased, and Cyn gave him a well-deserved wallop.  
"Stop calling me 'kid', man."  
"Why, would you rather be squirt?" Brendon asked, helping Cyn off the floor. He was almost a whole foot taller than the girl.  
"No. But now I feel like one." She frowned, but Brendon herded her into Pete's living room before she could fake a sulk for long.  
Brendon suddenly scooped Cyn up and tipped himself over the back of a couch, landing in another man's lap, with the poor girl still in his arms.  
"Ryro, meet Cyn." Brendon smiled at his shy friend, while Cyn gave him a jerky nod, not sure how to deal with these strange antics. Nobody acted like this where she was from.  
"Ryan." The dark haired boy corrected quietly with a crooked smile, though he winced when Brendon wiggled around, still perched on his lap. "Dammit Bren, get your bony ass off me." He shoved the pair right onto the floor, and Cyn took the opportunity to escape her new friend's arms, settling herself onto the couch next to Ryan. "Nice to meet you." Cyn grinned, offering her hand, her smile widening when Ryan shook her hand with a grin of his own.


	2. Chapter 2

Cyn wormed her way into having a day to herself - free of her new found famous friends and any work obligations - and was aimlessly exploring her new town when he stumbled across an adorable bookstore by chance, almost completely hidden by the outlet chains around it.  
Inside, the girl savored the smell of coffee and new books as she drifted around, marveling at how some places like this could be so far from her city but still smell like a little slice of home, eventually winding up by horror novels.  
As the musician skimmed the titles, Cyn shifted slowly down the aisle along the overstuffed shelf, unaware that someone was doing the same from the opposite end, until the two gently bumped in the middle.  
"Sorry." Mumbled a familiar voice, and Cyn turned to see a very bashful Ryan, looking down at her and blushing underneath his paperboy hat. "Oh. Hey, Cyn." He grinned sheepishly, only somewhat more at ease for having run down a familiar face as opposed to a total stranger. The blush, however, refused to fade.  
"Hey Ryan." The young woman nodded a belated greeting, then went back to browsing the many titles, though she kept a surreptitious eye on her fellow guitarist. "Didn't peg you for a horror person."  
"Could say the same about you." Ryan replied cheekily, both young adults too absorbed in selecting the perfect book to form complete sentences.  
"Touché.".  
After several long minutes of silence, Cyn finally spotted a good looking book. "Cell" by Stephen King. She reached for it, but Ryan apparently had the same idea, their hands brushing as they both went of the same copy at once. They startled back from each other, then Ryan grinned and snatched the last copy on the lower shelf.  
When Cyn glared, Ryan simply smiled back innocently, watching with interest as the much shorter woman stood on tiptoe, hopped, and even balanced on one foot trying to reach the top shelf where the other copies of the book seemed to mock her with their deceptively brightly colored covers.  
"What?" Ryan teased when Cyn gave up flailing for the book and gave him a very pointed look, arms crossed and eyebrows raised.  
"Fine, don't take he hint. I'll go find a chair or something." Cyn shrugged, and turned away, long used to having to look out for herself. She wasn't even sure why she'd expected - _hoped_ \- that Ryan would give her a hand. That wasn't how life worked; it was every man for himself.  
Cyn was brought up short when a hand dropped onto her shoulder without warning, startling her into whirling defensively around, only to see Ryan holding the book out to her.  
"Thanks, Ryan." Cyn said slowly, gingerly taking the book as if she expected it to bite her. When Ryan just smiled crookedly, helping himself to a copy o the shelf she couldn't reach, the young woman relaxed slightly. Ryan wasn't street like she was, he wouldn't pull anything too dirty for her to handle, least of all in a quaint little bookstore like this. Keeping that in the back of her mind, Cyn didn't shoo Ryan away, and instead the pair wandered around together, suggesting books for each other, insulting some of the poorly written or badly titled works. Ryan laughed when Cyn sneakily shifted some of the Twilight Saga to the children's section, and then put a few Bibles on the Fantasy shelves. The mature, quiet Ryan even gave in and moved a Star Wars encyclopedia to nonfiction.  
By then management had noticed what Cyn and Ryan were up to, and the pair was told to stop rearranging the store, so they took the hint, got their books, and booked it.  
"Have you ever had a reading party?!" Cyn asked slowly after the pair had moseyed down the sidewalk in silence for a ways. When Ryan just raised a skeptical eyebrow, amused, his new companion got defensive. "No, really! We just sit there and read. I did it with my friends once. We had junk food, and really quiet music, and a million books and the three of us just read all day. Best party ever." Cyn grinned, waggling her eyebrows, and Ryan laughed.  
"That sounds fun."  
In no time at all, Cyn had lead Ryan back to her small apartment. The young woman knew it was almost obsessively clean, but that didn't bother her; it was the way Ryan looked around, almost uneasily, that made Cyn realize what was wrong: she hadn't decorated at all. Shrugging off the sudden realization that she had many holes to fill in her home, she flicked on the acoustic station on the radio, crashing on the couch with her book as Ryan followed suit.  
Every now and then, one or both of the pair moved a little, and Cyn eventually wound up with her feet propped casually up on Ryan's lap, leaning back on the armrest of the couch. It was the easiest way to keep an eye on him while still being absorbed in her book - she would know the instant that Ryan shifted and be able to take countermeasures, but she didn't have to be sitting right on top of him to feel him shift. She had both distance and contact on her side, allowing Cyn to lose herself in King's horrifying world.  
"Reading parties are fun." Ryan commented as he stretched, rolling his neck and stifling a yawn.  
"I love them." Cyn blinked at her book, then glanced at the clock. "Since when is it 1 in the morning?"  
Ryan, too, checked the time, surprised. "Oops."  
Cyn eyed the young man carefully, sizing him up before deciding he was a minimal risk. "Reading sleepover?" She hadn't decided yet if she would lock herself in the safety of her room - which she'd added a deadbolt to the door of - or keep a hawk-like eye on him all night from in the living room with him.  
"Sounds good." Ryan grinned, then yawned again, setting his hostess off, too, before both picked their books back up.

When Cyn opened her eyes - she could have sworn she just blinked, but it was nearly 5 AM according to the clock - she and Ryan were still sitting together on the couch, though Ryan's arm had found its way around Cyn at some point, pulling her against him. He'd slumped slightly onto her, his head resting on top of hers. but both had their books safely in their laps, open to the same page.  
Cyn froze, considering this new development. She wasn't a fan of other people holding her, but she wasn't sure that this counted. Contact was part of her new life, as Pete had told her over and over again (and Brendon had hugged her again and again), and something she would have to get used to. Besides, Ryan was about as far from street as someone could get - he didn't think in ways to attack and take what he wanted, and he certainly couldn't take Cyn in a fight, even if she was half-asleep. Secure in that knowledge, she shut her eyes and drifted off again.  
The next time Cyn woke up was because someone dumped very cold water on her head. She bolted upright with a yelp, swinging wildly as Ryan gasped, both of them drenched.  
"How'd you get in my house?" Cyn growled, jerking Brendon down to her eye level while still on the couch; she'd snagged the front of his t shirt with one of her swings.  
"Joe showed me how to pick locks." Brendon answered innocently.  
"I never should've taught him that." Cyn hissed murderously as she released the singer, who just giggled giddily.  
"So, Ryan, how was your night?" Brendon asked wickedly, still giggling as he waggled his eyebrows ridiculously.  
Ryan rolled his eyes. "We read our books."  
Brendon narrowed his eyes, examining the duo in front of him, then frowned in disappointment. "You guys are boring."  
"No, I'm _soaked_." Cyn snarled at Brendon, glaring fiercely.  
"Hey, Cyn, what's with the look-" Brendon began nervously, but he was cut off when Cyn tackled him.

After Brendon spirited Ryan away, Cyn showered and changed into some of her new, Pete-approved clothes: a t shirt, skinny jeans, and new Converse, since apparently her old ones had been too battered. Cyn's new clothes - what she'd sneeringly referred to as "fancy duds," were her work clothes. Now that she'd had a day to herself, she was finally ready to squeeze out the final vocal track for the first single she was going to drop. It was the second song she'd have fully recorded for her debut album.  
When Cyn breezed into the studio, her mentors were all grinning in a way that made her stop and eye them warily. Nobody that smug and self-satisfied was ever up to any good.  
"What'd you booby-trap?" Cyn asked slowly, carefully evaluating Andy's, Joe's, Pete's, and Patrick's faces. They'd certainly got something up their sleeve for her, one way or another.  
"We didn't do anything." Pete replied mildly, still grinning madly. "Brendon just told us you and Ryan had fun last night."  
Cyn rolled her eyes, finally allowing herself to move closer, more like how far apart normal people would stand to converse. "We had a reading party."  
"What?" Joe asked, confused.  
"We stayed up late with junk food and the new Stephen King book. It's fun for anybody who likes reading." Cyn might be street, but she knew she was cultured and intelligent. Even knowing that those traits didn't match up with her background, she still took personal offense at people assuming she was uneducated or uninterested in things like books.  
"Why wasn't I invited?" Patrick teased goodnaturedly.  
"Well, I didn't really plan this one. I walked into a random bookstore and found Ryan, and then we got kicked out so we decided to-"  
"Wait, Ryan Ross got kicked out of a bookstore?" Pete asked, shocked, then a grin began to slowly creep across his face.  
"Yeah. My bad." Cyn rubbed the back of her neck and shuffled her feet sheepishly. She was a bad influence already, and she hadn't even gone street on them yet - she'd just been herself. Imagine what they'd think of her when she slipped back into her _really_ bad habits.  
"What did you do?" Andy laughed happily, surprising Cyn enough that she looked up again, studying the men closely.  
"We just redecorated a bit; put Twilight with the kids stuff, the Bible in Fantasy, and Star Wars in Nonfiction." Cyn kept her voice and expression light and nonchalant, but watched the four men in front of her for any reaction at all.  
"I love you." Joe shot a thumbs up at the surprised kid, and Andy went for a high five, which Cyn barely understood and received.  
"Ok, we're just doing the vocals today, cool?" Pete asked as everyone settled back into the business frame of mind, looking at Cyn.  
The young woman nodded silently and obediently entered the booth, ready to sing the day away.  



	3. & 4

Cyn spent the next few weeks acclimating. No gunshots thundered from dark alleys, but fireworks at a neighbor's celebration had the girl dropping to the sidewalk, rolling under a parked car as her groceries scattered from their abandoned bag, ruined. No pounding bass shivered out of passing traffic, rattling bones on the threats of blank stares behind scratched sunglasses, but tires hissed quietly over the pavement, barely whispering secrets, finally heard over their hybrid engines. No subway cars roared beneath Cyn's cheek at night, rocking her to sleep, but a soft bed cradled her, blankets wrapped around her like a trap, squeezing her as a kind pillow deafened her to any suspicious sounds that might rouse her.  
When Cyn was alone, locked safely in her house, she was jumpier than ever, unable to trust anything around her in this strange world where everything the street had beaten into her was inaccurate and invalid. She felt nearly useless, with every skill she had carefully honed to survive, tricks she was proud of mastering, now seeming paranoid, ridiculous, even alien. The teenager was hardly able to adjust herself to Pete's open-door policy, in which his friends and coworkers could literally just invade his home, unasked and uninvited.  
That open door of Pete's turned out to be the best therapy in rehabilitating the jumpy girl, however impractical and dangerous she thought the practice. Cyn got used to seeing these men - who considered her one of their friends already, the easily trusting fools - and welcomed her with open arms. Even when they lied - over little, petty things - they were terrible at it, making them horrifically honest people. They never would have survived on the street, and that thought was strangely comforting to Cyn; it meant she could take them on, possibly even all of them at once, and still scrape out of it in mostly one piece. She was safe from death, which was the only safety - as temporary as it was - a kid like her would ever know. Cyn eventually began to take advantage of that sense of security, as she sat with her new found friends in Pete's living room, having found a spot she liked. Reclining on a couch in the corner of the room, she was able to keep tabs on not only everyone else in the room, but also all the doors and windows while still kicking back, knees drawn somewhat defensively up in front of her, head propped on the armrest. The position even allowed her to zone out and daydream, staring blindly around the room because Cyn knew that any motion in her line of sight would jerk her back to reality.  
Having settled into her usual spot on Pete's couch, Cyn was humming softly to herself as she ran through some words in her mind, considering rhyme and meter. Maybe they could be lyrics if-  
Cyn jolted out of her reverie, not realizing she'd drifted much farther into daydream than she'd intended until she snapped out of it when she felt a warm weight settle gently onto her pelvis, leaning back to rest against her thighs. Starting to sit up slightly, Cyn was already halfway to snarling a threat when she realized it was just Pete standing next to the couch, and she settled slightly back before glancing at what was in her lap and freezing. An infant blinked back at her, smiling stupidly at her shocked expression.  
"And what is _that_?" Cyn turned her face slightly towards the short man so he could see firsthand just how displeased she was, but still kept her eyes locked firmly on the creature.  
"This is Bronx." Pete was proud as a peacock, and the obvious resemblance made the reason obviously clear. "Have fun." Pete smiled, already turning away.  
"Oi, no, I don't do kids.!" Cyn scowled, making the beast giggle and clap at the absurd expression as Pete slowly turned on his heel to face the teenager.  
Pete glared venomously, and all other conversation in the room stopped, everyone waiting with bated breath as if expecting a brutal murder. "Everyone likes Bronx." His expression made it clear that any response would be putting the teen's musical career on the line, if not her life, so Cyn waited until Pete's back was turned to roll her eyes, letting her breath out in a frustrated huff. She'd gotten very used to not having anyone boss her on the streets.  
Cyn pointedly glared anywhere but at the other people in the room, including the little one on her lap. She stayed stock still other than turning her head to avoid provoking any sort of reaction from the infant, but the thing still babbled and clapped and even grabbed a fistful of her t shirt to yank on, startling the girl enough that her street instincts kicked in and she nearly strangled the kid. Cyn's upper lip curled in disgust as she aborted the attack, half-wishing she'd have gone through with it on autopilot like she would have a month ago.  
Eventually Pete's friend Gerard Way, who Cyn had been introduced to once or twice when he and his band ended their Black Parade tour, came over and picked up the little monster. "You really don't like kids, do you?" Despite baby-talking the words into Bronx's face, Gerard's hazel eyes stayed fixed on Cyn, making it clear the question was for her.  
"Not at all." Cyn scowled, taking a good moment to think about what she was doing before sitting up so Gerard could join her on the couch, though she refused to look at the singer or the child he held. In fact, she shifted to sit even farther away from the pair than she would have had it simply been Gerard alone, wrinkling her nose in displeasure.  
"I'm a dad, too." Gerard confessed quietly, intent on watching as Bronx clutched at his fingers in childish wonder.  
Cyn couldn't stop herself from glancing over in surprise, unable to conceal her disgust before Gerard suddenly glanced up, intentionally catching her off guard. She froze for a moment, then screwed her face up to hide her shame at being caught without a mask, glaring away at nothing again.  
The two musicians sat quietly for a moment, listening to the sounds of their friends playing video games and conversing, as well as Bronx's giddy gibberish. It only took that moment before Cyn began fidgeting slightly, finally getting up and walking away without a word, or even looking at Gerard at all.

The next few days saw Cyn actively avoiding Pete and Gerard. When they walked into a room, Cyn seemed to vanish. If she knew they were going to be somewhere, Cyn had st least three airtight excuses and/or alibis to escape with. When contact was forced, the teenager stuck to simple tactics: shamelessly ignoring them.  
"What's your deal?" Joe sighed after the better part of a week had passed like that, catching Cyn as she looked down as Pete walked past. The shorter man seemed to have just given up.  
"What?" The expression and tone were a well-practiced guise of innocent ignorance, a tactic Cyn had perfected even before winding up on the streets, and a habit that hadn't hindered her transition to homelessness.  
"You're avoiding Pete." Joe replied bluntly, decidedly not amused by the girl's ploy.  
"And Gerard." Pete called from out of the room, eavesdropping, as usual. He always liked to know what was going on.  
"...Yeah, I guess I am." Cyn said slowly, keeping her expression carefully blank as she decided to own up. Shrugging carelessly, the teenager walked away, deciding she could ignore Joe, too, if he kept pressing the issue.

Having demonstrated her ability to entirely ignore people right out of hr life, Cyn felt it was safe to allow herself a daydream or two as she sat on her usual spot on Pete's living room couch. Daydreaming in his crowded house was better than pacing her too-big apartment, at any rate, and she felt secure enough in her assumption that none of the other men would risk being outcast by saddling her with the kid.  
Unfortunately, Cyn was mistaken, finding herself jerked out of her daydream once again when Bronx was placed on her lap by Joe. "Eh, no, I don't want it." Scowling, the teenager hoped the guitarist would give in and decide that facing her wrath wasn't worth it. She'd scared tougher people than this pampered rock star with just a look before.  
"Bronx is a 'him'." Joe replied, and walked away. Then again, those tougher people had known exactly what Cyn's wrath entailed; these guys were not only unaware of what she was capable of, but they had never experienced it outside of movies.  
Cyn stared at Joe's retreating back, eyes narrowed in irritation but also slightly panicked, then caught sight of the guys snickering. She shot Andy, Patrick, and Mikey the most deadpan scowl she could manage, still ignoring Gerard, hoping to scare them into silence, but they just guffawed even louder. Humiliated her tricks were failing, Cyn glared around the room, refusing to look at anyone at all.  
Cyn did well ignoring the creature on her lap despite its babbling, until it screeched and thumped its tiny fists between its legs on her stomach. She snarled at the kid, jerking slightly in surprise as the kid stared back, wide-eyed in shock at her reaction. "What?" The irritable teen growled, glaring menacingly, only for the infant's expression to melt into a frown, tears welling up in his eyes.  
"Oh, shit. Hey, no, c'mon kid, don't do that." Cyn's own eyes widened, knowing that a meltdown would mean certain death for her. Pete would go on a killing spree if anyone made his kid cry. Gerard, Mikey, Patrick, and Andy were watching with interest, snickering again, but thankfully Pete was out of the room with Joe, Frank, and Ray. As long as Pete didn't know about this, Cyn was safe.  
"Hey, kid, Bronx, don't cry." Cyn tried to coo, but it sounded all wrong. The words, however, struck a chord in her memory, bringing back the things the older street kids had said to her when she was still building up her callous. "Don't you fucking cry, kid, don't you fucking dare." Tossing the baby voice out the window, Cyn kept her tone low and even, borderline menacing. "Not if you want to live, there are no waterworks here. If you fucking cry, you're dead. If you scream, you're dead. I'm not the scariest thing out there, there are much worse monsters hiding in closets and under beds, and they'll hear you if you cry." Cyn curled er upper lip back in a flashy snarl, channeling her best Billy Idol. "Don't you fucking cry if you want to live another day. Shut up and you might get to suffer through tomorrow. Shut up, kid, just shut the fuck up, and don't you fucking dare cry."  
Bronx slowly stopped fussing, and though a few forgotten tears slid down his cheeks, he didn't seem too upset anymore.  
"See? That's not so bad." Cyn grinned at him wolfishly. "I'm not the scariest monster out there." She confided, and the infant giggled, happy to be in on that little secret. "There are much, much worse things waiting in the dark."  
As the minutes ticked into hours, Cyn continued hissing the harsh truths she'd been fed on the streets to Bronx, imparting upon him hard-earned wisdom and heard-learned lessons. The infant didn't seem terribly concerned by her sinister smile, or the few times her voice wavered as she shared some of her grittier cautionary tales.  
"I told you everyone likes Bronx." Pete smiled kindly as he finally sauntered over to where Cyn sat, Gerard trailing along behind him.  
"Just get it off me." Cyn glared away from both men as well as Bronx, relieved but unwilling to appear grateful.  
Pete sighed and ignored Cyn's request, instead sitting to face her on the opposite end of the couch, his expression serious as Gerard settled on the floor next to where the teen perched on the couch, reaching up so that the infant in her lap could play with his fingers.  
"Why do you suddenly not like us?" Pete's expression was genuinely hurt, surprising Cyn.  
She couldn't stop herself from glancing up, but looked away again quickly, finding herself focusing on Bronx only to scowl away from him as well. "It's not... it's nothing personal, it's just... you're a _dad_." Cyn shook her head, lip curling in distatse.  
"And just what's so bad about that?" Gerard asked, though he kept his eyes on Bronx.  
"Parents are horrible, rotten people. Families are a joke." Cyn spat the words as if they were venomous, glaring into space.  
"...What?" Pete finally asked.  
"You heard me." Cyn grumble mulishly.  
"Why would you think that?" Pete pressed, looking torn between devastation, horror, and pity.  
"My parents were abusive. My friend's parents were abusive." Cyn shrugged carelessly. "Racists, too. They hurt people."  
There was a beat of silence, then Pete took Bronx away, holding him close as if Cyn would suddenly start rampaging. The way the short man narrowed his eyes slightly - that wary, mistrustful look - was familiar to Cyn for too many terrible reasons, and she felt the icy fingers of panic tickle down her spine. She was so far from the streets and yet she was facing them. Even Gerard shifted slightly away, looking uncertain, and Cyn knew she had to do some pretty impressive damage control if she didn't want to drown when it cam to sink or swim.  
"I'm not like them. That's why they threw me out. I spent every day fighting them. They even tried drugging me, to make me go along with it, but I just... didn't. I found out they were putting pills in my food, blew a fuse." Cyn's eyes darted from Pete to Gerard, flickering back and forth as she tried to gauge their reactions. Honesty was nowhere near her policy on personal issues like this, but this wasn't the streets and she didn't want to live like that forever. "It was the biggest fight I ever had with my parents, and it was the last. They threw me out when I was still pretty young. Being a kid made it easy, I guess, because nobody is suspicious of a hitchhiking kid, they just pick you up, especially if you tell them you're heading to home instead of away from it. I made it from Oklahoma to New York in under a week."  
Gerard was the first to break the tense silence that followed. "You're a runaway?" He shot Pete a disapproving look, but the short man shrugged - he hadn't known.  
"What, did you think I was Little Orphan Annie or some shit?" Cyn scoffed, the idea being so ridiculous to her that it was funny. When neither man responded right away, her amusement became disbelief. "Really? Your perfect little lives didn't even let you entertain the thought that I came from somewhere even worse that the street? Oh, sweeties, I could tell you horror stories that would make your blood run cold, all of it before the time I spent in the city." Sighing as if disappointed, the teenager shook her head again, this time as if to clear it.  
"Like I said, it's nothing personal, I just really hate parents." Cyn abandoned the men and child on the couch, joining Joe in his attempt to build a house of cards, made interesting by the fact that he was as high as a kite again.

The next time Cyn found herself at Pete's place, she sought out a new spot to settle, hoping that none of her so-called friends would dump the kid on her again. She had barely draped herself across the armchair when Joe appeared, settled Bronx in her lap, and walked away snickering.  
"Hey, kid." Cyn sighed, resigned, as Bronx just babbled and smiled in reply. Even when she scowled and growled at the kid, he just giggled and reached out to gently place his soft hands on either side of the girl's face. Cyn felt something inside of her give way suddenly, and held Bronx close, cradling his head on her shoulder, humming absentmindedly while stroking his hair. It wasn't long before he fell asleep.  
"You ok?" Pete asked, kneeling next to the armchair and resting his forearms on the side, concern written all over his face.  
"Yeah." Cyn replied slowly, meeting his eyes in confusion, narrowing her own. Was this a setup? A trick?  
"'Cause you don't look ok." Pete kept his voice low as he slowly reached out to touch Cyn's face. She flinched jerkily away from his hand at first, startling them both, then grudgingly allowed the man to touch her. The teenager blinked hard when the calloused fingers met her lightly scarred cheek, and again in surprise when she realized he was wiping away a tear. She was crying?  
"Yeah, well, I'm fine." Cyn maintained gruffly. "Just... take your kid."  
"Tell me what's wrong."  
Cyn screwed her face up as hard as she could and looked away from Pete, glaring into space, trying to stop the tears she was suddenly aware of by sheer force of will, but the harder she tried, the faster they burned down her cheeks. "Nothing." She could feel them scorching along the channels made by old scars before they dropped, red hot, onto the back of her hand.  
"Kid, -" Pete began, and was all it took.  
"Know what? You're right. I _am_ a fucking kid. I'm a kid who doesn't have a fucking family anymore. I'm a kid who's just a screw up, a street kid, somebody nobody fucking cares about. _I_ don't even care about me. I'm on my own, and I fucking know it. God _damn_ , do I know it. But y'know what else? I was doing just fucking fine on the streets." Cyn nearly shoved Bronx at Pete, who just stared sadly. The pity in his eyes only made Cyn even angrier and more humiliated than she'd felt, so she shouted even more as she stood up, tears flowing freely down her face as all other conversation in the room ground to a halt. "I don't even want a fucking family, or any of you. I just need a fucking job. I don't even fucking like any of you." Cyn snarled, then slammed out the door, feeling everyone's stares stabbing her in the back as she kept trying not to cry.  
Cyn stalked down the sidewalk at a quick march, fists clenched so tightly that they shook in her pockets, with shoulders hunched and head down, pretending the drops splattering on the pavement were just raindrops. Meaningless.  
When she stumbled across the old park, closed because it was deemed "hazardous for children" and marked fro demolition, Cyn climbed the chain link fence and went straight for the pirate ship-like structure, climbing right up to the crow's nest to lay on her back on the rusty metal, thirty feet in the air. A breeze hissed to the teenager through the warped metal, wrapping its chilly hold firmly around her.  
Then she started crying for real.  
Life wasn't fucking fair. Cyn had learned that lesson over and over for her entire life, but it was just as bitter a pill as the first time she'd swallowed it. That idiot Bronx had parents who loved him, and the other guys would be the best surrogate uncles on the planet. Pete and Gerard, they had families who loved them. And Cyn had what she'd always had - nothing. A big, fat, fucking nothing and no one. Hadn't she earned _something_ by now, just by virtue of surviving? She escaped the abuse but it just landed her on the streets. And now she'd escaped the streets and was having everything she'd ever wanted dangled in front of her and rubbed in her fucking face. Maybe those rock stars could make her rich and famous, but no money or fame could buy what she wanted.  
She wanted a family. She wanted parents who loved her. All Cyn wanted was someone to patch her up when she fell apart, someone who would keep the nightmares away, someone who would just love her. She didn't even care if she had a single parent, or an adopted parent. All Cyn wanted was a fucking family, but she'd left even the little one she'd built on the streets. She didn't deserve a family.  
Cyn knew she was being petty and childish, to be jealous of something like a family, but it was about damn time for her to be petty and childish. Between the streets and the abuse, she'd never been able to be a kid. She could allow herself this tantrum, those feelings, just this once.  
The teenager stayed the night in the park, up in that rusty crow's nest. It was cold, and the dew was miserable when it settled into her clothes, but Cyn didn't want to go back to that too-soft bed in the too-safe home, where the people she knew were looking for her would know how to find her. When day finally dawned again, Cyn wandered around the park, trying out the complaining swings, walking to the river that flowed through part of the field and staring at the sluggish frogs. Exhausting all her options in the park, Cyn finally hopped the fence and started her own version of the walk of shame. She was almost amused that she wasn't alone on the sidewalk, having passed at least two women in dresses, sporting smudged makeup and carrying their heels. Like them, Cyn kept her head down and shuffled on her way, zombie-like.  
There were a couple messages waiting for her on the land line's answering machine, and when Cyn turned her cell phone back on it was about ready to burst with unanswered texts and missed calls, but she just deleted it all. Cyn wasn't quite ready to face reality yet, and running had never once failed her.  
With a sigh, the teenager fell onto the couch, staring at the ceiling as she rubbed her face tiredly. Chicago wasn't far from New York. She could make it. she'd made it before.

The land line pulled Cyn out of her dazed stupor, but she pretended not to hear it, letting the ringing try its hardest to pull her off the couch. When the machine finally clicked on, her recorded greeting gruffly asked for a name and number before a familiar voice started talking.  
"Look, Cyn, I know I'm probably the last person you'd wanna hear from right now, but-" Pete sighed. "Look, we're just, we're worried, ok?" Cyn could picture him running a hand down his face like he did whenever he was stressed. "At least call one of us back, Joe and Brendon’ve been crying. And...I'm sorry, kid." Click.  
Cyn scowled; she didn't want his pity. She didn't need it. Yet she gave in with a sigh, knowing she'd brought it on herself, and decided to text Brendon.  
 **STPP WIRRYI G. N STIP CRYYING. <3**  
Having sent the text, Cyn decided to just fall asleep.

Cyn kept her eyes closed as she stretched, putting on a show of being caught in a moment of weakness, but she was hyper aware of the people in her living room. Years of being cornered in the dark and in her sleep had trained Cyn well enough that the soft sounds of breathing and hush of too-quiet people were like an alarm to her. The teenager sat up as if it were part of her stretch, arching her back for show while getting into a position she could more easily attack or defend from before opening her eyes to survey the intruders.  
Joe, Brendon, Patrck, and Ryan were crammed onto the couch opposite Cyn's, watching her in concerned silence. Realizing that there was no real threat and she may as well have continued napping, Cyn wrinkled her nose in displeasure before relaxing, raising her eyebrows as she waited silently for an explanation.  
"We wanted to make sure you were okay." Surprisingly enough, it was shy Ryan Ross who broke the silence first, and Cyn dropped her gaze to the floor, not really knowing how to respond to that. Those words were foreign to her.  
"I..." Cyn began, but something painful caught in her throat and choked the words off. It felt like the times she'd taken hits to the windpipe. "I'm sorry." She finally managed, looking up almost anxiously, like she didn't think they would forgive her. Where she came from, some grudges lived longer than people. Cyn's arms twitched slightly, as if she wanted to reach out but caught herself, thinking it a mistake.  
Brendon stood up suddenly, stepped right over the coffee table, and plonked himself down next to Cyn, wrapping her up in a hug. He ignored her flinch as she shied away and held still as she calmed down and relaxed, and soon the others made their way over to join the hug.  
"I'm sorry." The repetition seemed to make the words come easier for Cyn, but Patrick shushed her.  
"It's okay." Ryan replied, speaking for everyone.

*

Cyn wound up falling in with her little ragtag group of concerned citizens who'd broken into her apartment. Everyone else seemed unsure of how to handle her post-tantrum, especially Pete and Gerard, who all but ran for cover when Cyn entered a room. Seeing how nervous she was making the men, Cyn decided to stay cooped up in her apartment, which got cramped very quickly when her friends followed her. It was during one such gathering that Cyn glanced over from her spot on the floor to see Joe staring at her seriously from the armchair, frowning slightly.  
"What?" The teenager asked slowly, sitting up carefully as she quirked an eyebrow. A serious Joe was usually not a Joe to trifle with.  
"Can you just tell us? Why you don't like Pete and Gerard anymore?" Brendon cut in, surprising the pair, but Joe just nodded in agreement.  
"It's complicated." Cyn fidgeted slightly, trying not to show weakness by looking away, her gaze flickering between the two men even as she heard Ryan and Patrick abruptly end their conversation, listening in. There was no way she was winning this one.  
"Story time." Patrick's voice was as gentle as it always was when he spoke to Cyn, even as he and the others settled onto the floor facing the girl.  
"I'd have to start from the beginning." Cyn warned them, hoping to deter them, but they nodded.  
"That's a good place." Joe agreed, the ghost of a smile trying to lift the corner of his mouth.  
"It's kinda long." The girl squirmed in her spot and made a face, trying to get out of it.  
"We've got time." Ryan replied patiently, and Cyn's scowl deepened.  
With a deep sigh, Cyn finally nodded, running a hand down her face.  
"I'm from a small town in Oklahoma. My folks weren't nice. They were pretty vocal racists, and... abusive. My friends' parents were like them, too." Cyn recited almost mechanically, picking at the carpet. "I never agreed with that. They tried drugging me, and that caused the last fight we ever had. It wasn't just that they threw me out, I left because I wanted to, too. I was younger then, so it was easy to hitchhike if you told people you were trying to get home. I made it to New York in around two weeks and started living in the streets. I met other kids like me, who's parents tossed 'em out, who ran away from abuse. Sometimes the parents came looking." Cyn kept her gaze fixed firmly on the floor, knowing her eyes had that cold, dead look to them; all the kids from the street developed that robotic, empty look, like sharks, because they learned to do anything to scrape through to see tomorrow. They learned to do it all and not feel a thing. "Families are fucking disasters. Nobody needs that. _I_ don't need that, I'm fucked up enough. And I don't want it anywhere near me." Cyn shook her head, upper lip curling in disgust before she glanced up at her friends, trying to gauge their reactions. "I've seen kids and their parents kill each other, drive each other literally insane, stab each other in the back. Family don't mean shit."  
Brendon and Ryan were blinking, shocked into silence, and Patrick's face was so flooded with sympathy that Cyn wanted to throttle him. Joe seemed torn between pity and disgust.  
"What was it like on the streets?" Brendon asked quietly, almost as if he were afraid of the answer.  
"Heat stroke. Hypothermia. Shootings. Suicide attempts. Rape. Starvation. Backstabbing friends and stabbing friends in the back. You've gotta think on your feet and you've gotta know your limit, but most of all you need to know who you can fight, when you should run, and where you can hide." Cyn shrugged carelessly, long desensitized. "Some of us looked out for each other, banded together out of necessity. We were alone, but we were together, somehow. We have our own language on the streets, our own legends and stories and bogeymen. We've got our jokes. There're good times, and there're bad times." There was a beat of hesitation before Cyn pressed on. "I liked it, sometimes."  
"That sounds... unbelievable. How'd you make it?" Patrick breathed, leaning forward intently.  
"I'm a kid. We bounce back." Cyn shrugged again, as if trying to displace a fy. "We survive."  
"So how old are you, really?" Joe pressed, making Cyn squirm slightly under his scrutiny.  
"This is our little secret, ok?" Cyn asked while making a face, and the men all nodded fervently. The teenager rolled her eyes - she knew that telling these guys anything amounted to putting up a billboard.  
Still scowling, Cyn dropped her gaze to the floor, a little shy, and definitely about to take a hit to her pride. Being young made the teenager feel insignificant, inferior, even. "Almost 18." She finally admitted.

After a few weeks, Cyn wound up where everyone always ended up: back at Pete's place. His open-door policy shocked Cyn - as much as someone like her could be shocked - but she learned to take advantage of it. Being there with everyone else was better than cramming a few of them into her too-small apartment, or pacing the cavernous space alone. After being away for so long, she'd regressed to sitting in a corner where she could see everyone again, watching without involving herself in anything.  
Cyn stayed aloof until she caught sight of Frank, who was jiggling an upset Bronx. It was easy to see that the infant was tired and just wanted a nap, but Frank just wasn't putting two and two together. The teenager mulled over her options for a long moment, weighing the pros and cons of staying away and letting the creature start screaming; listening to that would be irritating, and then listening to Pete lecture Frank would be worse. Snorting slightly at her own idiocy, Cyn got up and crossed the room to take Bronx. Poor Frank shot a worried look at Pete, who was still oblivious, before passing off what the short man clearly saw as a ticking time bomb.  
Cyn held Bronx carefully, if a bit stiffly, and the child giggled a little when he saw who was holding him, then yawned.  
Cyn had been in Pete's house frequently, and had seen the door to Bronx's room just as many times, though she hadn't recognized it for the kid's room until now. The epiphany came from the two stars in the hall, one on the door at the end, and one to the left of the door That made the door the second star to the right - Neverland, a safe haven for kids. Pete loved that story, and it didn't surprise Cyn that when she opened Bronx's door, his room was made of murals straight out of the Disney movie. She didn't bother being impressed or looking around -she'd seen beautiful artwork in her day, most of it illegal - but settled right down in the rocking chair by Bronx's crib, ignoring the fact that it put her back to the door.  
"When I find myself in times of trouble, Mother Mary comes to me, speaking words of wisdom, let it be. Let it be, let it be, let it be, let it be. Whisper words of wisdom, let it be. And when the brokenhearted people living in the world agree, there will be and answer, let it be. Let it be, let it be, let it be, let it be. There will be an answer, let it be. And when the night is cloudy there is still a light that shines on me, shine on until tomorrow, let it be. I wake up to the sound of music, Mother Mary comes to me, speaking words of wisdom, let it be." Cyn didn't bother finishing the song after the kid fell asleep, curled up peaceful and untroubled in her arms.  
"You're a goddamn lucky kid, y'know. Your dad loves you, and all his friends. They'll look out for you, keep you safe. You won't get rough around the edges." Cyn sighed, feeling exhaustion eating away at her for the first time in a long time and staring blindly at a wall. "You've got it fucking easy, punk." She looked at Bronx again, away from where she'd zoned out. "You've got it really fucking good." The teenager glared at the sleeping child, a flare of jealousy suddenly taking hold. "You won't know what a gunshot sounds like. You won't know what it sounds like to hear other kids starve to death. It's a slow sound, and it only comes out at night. You won't ever go hungry, or cold, or homeless. No, you've got it fucking easy, 'cause ain't nobody gonna touch you. Not with those guys around." Cyn sighed again, then put Bronx in his crib. "Ain't nobody gonna touch you, 'cause ain't nobody who can get past me to do it." After looking at the sleeping child for another moment, Cyn turned towards the door, freezing when she saw Pete leaning on the door frame, looking just as surprised and slightly guilty for having eavesdropped.  
Cyn blinked, shocked she'd been snuck up on, then crossed her arms defensively across her chest, gazing at Pete levelly.  
Pete gave in quickly, dropping his gaze. "I saw you walk away with Bronx, so...." He trailed off. He'd been worried.  
"He was tired." Cyn replied, looking away from Pete.  
"Yeah.... Thanks." Pete said quietly.  
"Right." Cyn glanced up, trying to figure out how to escape without mowing Pete down in the doorway as a pregnant silence filled the space between them.  
The issue of escape was solved when Pete moved forward to hug Cyn, who flinched back, then darted past the man. Surprising both Pete and herself, she paused in the doorway, looking back at the man. "Sorry." The she darted back into the living room, dropping onto the couch next to Joe.  
The fluffy-haired man studied the teenager grinning up at him for a moment, then offered her a sip of his energy drink. Cyn recognized it was his favorite flavor, and knew Joe only shared those when he knew something was up that he shouldn't bother just yet. She hesitated for barely a second, then took a swig, sealing the deal. Maybe she'd talk to Joe about it one day, but it would take a long time.  
"You okay, kid?" Pete settled onto the couch on Cyn's free side, making sure not to crowd her too much. She got a little funny about people touching her, and everyone had noticed but no one wanted to say anything.  
"Always am." Cyn spared him a sidelong glance, only paying him half her attention as she kept her eye on Andy shouting with Frank, goaded on by Gerard. Those three were surprisingly energetic together, especially considering how quiet Andy got when Cyn got close.  
"We'll watch out for you." Joe's hand dropped onto Cyn's shoulder, and the teen flinched automatically, blinking in surprise at his words. That promise carried a lot of weight to a street kid, and Cyn sized him up for a long moment before deciding that Joe knew what he was saying.  
"I'll hold you to it."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, this chapter gave me a really hard time! As previously mentioned, it's a re-write - hopefully a maturation - of a story (of the same title) on my Mibba.com profile.
> 
> That being said, I tried to post this chapter (combined 3 & 4) after completing what I've been referring to as the "translation," only for my wifi to go down & lose absolutely everything due to a storm.
> 
> Between that frustration, having to find the motivation to re-write something I had been actually happy with, all the while fending off run-of-the-mill depression, getting this up hasn't been easy. If anyone followed me from Mibba, you'll now that these are familiar issues for me. All I can do is apologize over and over, and thank you all for your patience.


	4. Chapter 4

"Thank me later, kid, for now, just go pack your bags!" Pete literally burst into Cyn's apartment, refusing to react to the fact that the teen had a knife drawn and pointed at him. The startled girl scowled as she slowly relaxed from her defensive stance.  
"What are you talking about, Pete?" Cyn sighed as she folded the knife shut and essentially made it vanish. She'd learned plenty of useful sleight of hand tricks on the street just for that reason.  
"I landed you a gig opening for Panic! in New York City, cause I know you've been missing it." The bassist grinned, watching Cyn's reaction intently. She'd been one step ahead of him, already looking away so he couldn't fully gauge her expression. The beat of silence stretched on, and grew long enough that Pete fidgeted slightly, wondering if he'd made a mistake.  
"Sounds like a fun gig." Cyn finally looked up at Pete, her voice even and face blank. Whether she was happy or not, she was being difficult just to screw with her friend, who caught on, smiling.  
"Get packing, we leave in three days."

When the ragtag group of rock stars finally made it out of the airport and into the city, the men quickly realized that they had a problem: Cyn kept vanishing, quite literally. One second she'd be next to one of her friends, staring around like a tourist, and the next second she'd be gone, only to materialize in a nearby shop window, or in a crowd across the street. There were three panicked blocks where the men had absolutely no idea where she had gone, only to find her waiting for a green light at a pedestrian crossing.  
Cyn gulped the polluted city air like the elixir of life, swaggering here, there, and everywhere as her eyes flashed over everything. "Home, sweet home." She mumbled to herself, hitching her backpack more firmly onto her shoulder.  
After ditching their things in some seriously swanky hotel rooms, everyone met back up and wandered out on the streets, looking for something to do. At least, everyone but Cyn seemed to be aimlessly spit balling ideas. The teen just watched quietly, knowing that she was back in her comfort zone and could break off to do whatever she wanted, probably without anyone else ever finding out.  
"Where should we go?" Brendon wondered out loud, his voice approaching whiny after being stuck on a cramped plane for so long.  
"Central Park?" Pete suggested, and Cyn glanced at him. That was on her list of places to hit. Almost as if he knew she'd be on his side, the bassist looked over at Cyn to back him up.  
"It's a nice place for a walk, people watching." She shrugged carelessly. Showing excitement or desire to go there would betray her intentions, and if people knew her, they could hurt her. That was how the New York City streets worked, and that mindset had kept Cyn alive for a very long time. She wouldn't show any emotion about this, or anything else that mattered.  
"I'm game." Ryan agreed with a grin, and everybody else just kind of nodded, willing to go with it.  
At Central Park Brendon immediately took off to chase the ducks, Spencer and Jon tagging along as supposed supervision, though Andy decided to accompany them for extra insurance. They'd barely vanished over the crest of a gentle hill when the remnants of the group heard them whooping and hollering.  
The other five wandered quietly down the path, enjoying the beautiful day. They wound along under the trees, passing joggers and dog walkers, all of whom kept to themselves. Patrick started keeping a running commentary on the people they passed, and was eagerly joined by the others, but Cyn just stared around thoughtfully.  
"Cyn!" A disembodied voice preceded a dark skinned boy the same age as the young singer dropping out of the tree he'd been sitting in, several yards ahead. "That you?"  
"Depends." Cyn eyed him warily, glancing around as if checking that he didn't have backup. "You still pissed?" She cracked a grin and met her friend halfway, grabbing his hand and ramming their shoulders together, clapping each other on the back.  
"Nah, I needed that." He laughed, shaking his head as the two broke apart. "Where ya been, man?"  
"Everywhere." Cyn shook her head and rolled her eyes as she exhaled hard through her nose, running her hand through her hair absentmindedly.  
"Heard you got swiped by a stoner and an emo." The boy raised his eyebrows and rocked back on his heels, eyes sliding casually to Cyn's friends before focusing on her again.  
Cyn glanced at the guys, only just now aware that they were watching, but deciding it didn't matter. "Yeah, Joe 'n Pete." She waved a careless hand towards the men. "Ryan & Patrick, too." Glancing at her friends again, she sized them up for a moment before motioning them towards her. "Guys, this is Kyle."  
Kyle tilted his head. "Are you the guy in that band? Panic! At The Disco?"  
"That's me." Ryan ducked his head bashfully, blushing.  
"Kyle, you seen Trey 'n Jamie around?" Cyn cut in before the awkward silence could take hold.  
"Jamie's same as ever, Trey pulled a magic trick." Kyle shrugged, and the girl frowned.  
"Fuck. Jamie'll prolly get it." Cyn said slowly, as if trying to convince herself as much as her friend, and Kyle nodded.  
"I gotta jet - pinhead put a price on my pretty face." Kyle grinned crookedly, then sauntered off down the path, whistling.  
"I think I understood half of that." Pete frowned and scratched his chin, trying to figure out what the pair been talking about.  
"Kyle said that he heard I got kidnapped and asked what really happened. I told him it was too long a story & asked where my friends were. One of them's missing. Some drug lord's got a price on Kyle's head for something, too. Usual news."  
"That sucks." Ryan shook his head.  
"We call that a good day, here." Cyn smiled coldly at Ryan as she moved off down the path again, the others trailing behind.  
"You ever have a bad day?" Joe asked.  
"Many."

By the time Cyn's little group reunited with the others, night was falling on the city. Every here and there windows would be shuddering with the bass pounding inside buildings, and people were starting to queue at doors guarded by massive bouncers.  
"Let's hit a club." Brendon suggested, grinning, and met with enthusiastic agreement.  
The guys started discussing well-known clubs, regular celebrity haunts, but Cyn just rolled her eyes, listening. They knew all the hot-to-trot places with intense security and safety nets. Those places were more like an eighth grade dance than a club.  
"I'm almost afraid to ask, but do you know where the best club in New York is?" Pete suddenly broke off his heated discussion with Brendon to look at Cyn. He knew she was underage, but he was willing to bet a little thing like that wouldn't stop her.  
"Maybe." Cyn replied mildly, shrugging.  
"Which one is it?" Brendon asked enthusiastically, slinging an arm around Cyn's shoulders only to be shrugged off.  
"It's not one you've heard of." Cyn kept her tone light. "I don't even think it's a good idea for you to go."  
"Why not?" Joe demanded, and Cyn shifted slightly to better face everyone all at once. If they were verbally ganging up on her, she knew what came after and she was ready.  
"I'm not babysitting you." Cyn cringed inwardly, knowing that there were a million better ways she could have said that, but her street slang just slipped out.  
"Kid, make that make sense." Jon ordered, and Cyn stared back at him impassively.  
"Don't talk down to me, man." She raised an eyebrow at the man. Calling Cyn 'kid' was one thing, but she'd lived a long time as her own boss and parent. Between her independence and her pride, she didn't take kindly to condescension or orders.  
"Chill." Joe said, putting a hand on the girl's shoulder, but she jerked away, having already been on high alert, and glared.  
"Place is shady. I don't need you mice getting mixed up in our shit. If you even look at somebody wrong, you're shark bait." Cyn shook her head. "Even the blues are scared of it; they get hurt if they show up in uniform, but there's plenty of vice. It's a rough crowd."  
"Then why do you know?" Brendon asked.  
Cyn barked a humorless laugh. "I've been going since I was 11."  
When the men remained silent, trying to convince her with just their puppy dog eyes, Cyn rolled her eyes again. "Fine, but if you get in a fight, you on yo' own."  
The building was a rundown dump. The faded concrete walls were layered with graffiti, and most of the windows were boarded over. Two hulking men dressed all in black guarded the main door, and a shadow shifting in the alley beside the cracking place made it clear that security was guarding every way in and out. The people already beginning to queue looked about as unwelcoming as the building itself, but Cyn paid them no mind, sauntering right past the line.  
"Here it is." She gestured vaguely at the building, sights fixed on the pair of bouncers by the front door. The two hulking figures glared back at the approaching troop, but allowed Cyn to slide past unchallenged. As easy as getting in had been for Cyn, one of the bouncers made it difficult for the others, holding up a hand and stopping her friends short.  
"Chillax, Rick. They're with me." Cyn glanced back at him coolly, holding the muscled man's glare. His partner stayed focused on the line, making sure nobody snuck around or tried anything funny.  
"You sure they're cool, Cyn?" The interested bouncer asked, raising his eyebrows.  
"Fly." Cyn faked a smile, sickly sweet, but it did the trick. The bouncer shrugged carelessly and stepped aside to let the men pass.  
"Should I be worried he knew your name?" Brendon grinned, looking ecstatic.  
"Only if the guys inside remember me." Cyn deadpanned, and it took a minute for her friends to realize that she might not be joking.  
Inside, it was dark and hazy, with loud music pounding and lights flashing randomly, the crazy beat pulsing through everything. There was a long bar, not terribly crowded because the dance floor was packed. Off to one side were couches, pool and card tables, and the doors to the back rooms, where there was a little privacy. Nobody was posing for selfies or taking pictures of their drinks. Nobody in that club looked like a model, or a fashionista. A lot of them looked really sketchy, or trashy at best. It looked good in the epileptic lighting, impressive and confident.  
"I like this." Pete nodded in approval as he glanced around.  
"Yeah, it goes all night here 'cause the cops never shut the joint down - they'd get lynched." Cyn informed him over the music. "Literally."  
Brendon had already vanished to dance with Spencer and Jon, Pete following soon after as everyone else settled down at a card table, doing their best to chat over the music.  
At the next table over, a "crack" snapped over the music, and a man fell out of his chair to bleed on the floor. The man who had been sitting across from him carefully tucked his gun back into his overcoat, the bulky men standing on either side of him shuffling their feet stupidly before stooping to grab the injured man under his armpits. They left a smear of blood in their wake before vanishing out a side door. Cyn ignored the commotion, instead glaring at her friends.  
"Don't look, stupid." Cyn hissed at her rubbernecking companions, and they immediately looked back at the table. "Like I said, rough crowd." Cyn smiled harshly, wanting to save "I told you so" for when it would cut a little deeper.  
A short while later, a scantily clad girl minced up to the table, practically sitting herself in a terrified Ryan's lap. Purring all sorts of things as she stroked his chest and toyed with his hair, she kept her back to the others at the table. She knew how to keep a man's attention focused on her, and she did it well.  
"Carla, what did I tell you about the guys who're with me?" Cyn leaned back in her chair and crossed her arms, clearly amused.  
The woman barely glanced oven her shoulder in irritation, then nearly cricked her neck doing a double take. "Cyn? I thought somebody capped you." Still on Ryan's lap, she crossed her arms. "Does the rule still apply when you're with a bunch of them?" She wheedled, glancing at Ryan and shooting him a lethal smile.  
"Ah, whatever." Cyn waved her off carelessly. "I'm not sticking around to watch you try to seduce my friends." Sliding off her seat and away from the table, she tipped a salute to her friends.  
"Gonna hustle some pool?" Carla asked shrewdly.  
"Maybe later." Cyn grinned wickedly. "For now, I'm going to go dance with my friends."  
Carla looked over Cyn's shoulder when she gestured, seeing Pete, Brendon, Spencer, and Jon. The poor woman's mouth almost started watering at the sight.  
"Have fun." Cyn wiggled her fingers sarcastically, then vanished into the mass of gyrating bodies.  
By the time Cyn and her fellow dancers left the floor and collapsed back at the table, over an hour of bouncing, grinding, and twisting had them panting and sweaty. Glancing around the table, Cyn noticed a few missing bodies.  
Carla had vanished, and so had Joe. The teenager frowned, glancing around. Carla was Cyn's age, it would be creepy as hell if Joe had gone off with her. Not to mention probably illegal.  
No, there he was, talking to a guy in a shadey corner.  
"Shit." Cyn said out loud, then ditched the table and headed for Joe, ducking dancers as she went.  
"Hey Joe, what's up?" Cyn asked casually with an easy grin, though her cold eyes stared daggers into Joe's new friend.  
"I'm getting some decent pot." Joe grinned, over the moon and already tipsy.  
"No, you're not." Cyn informed Joe, who glared, but his young companion ignored him and smiled sweetly at the man. "He's not interested."  
"I think he is." The man replied. "Now, sweetheart, if you wanna deal, too-"  
Cyn cut him off, suddenly all ice as she dropped her sarcastic smile. "We don't deal with vice and if I see you again anywhere near my friends I'll blow your cover sky-high, _sweetheart_." Cyn snarled lowly, advancing into the much larger man's personal space.  
The man grimaced. "C'mon, you wouldn't really-"  
"I've done it before." Cyn drawled coldly as she stepped even closer. "Now scram, or you're going to find out exactly what happened to the cop they only found pieces of."  
The man winced, then vanished into the crowds.  
"Jesus, Joe, can you not buy pot from the vice?" Cyn sighed, relieved, running a hand through her hair as she turned to face her friend.  
"How could you tell?" Joe whined.  
"He was clean cut. Nobody else wears a polo here." Cyn eyed Joe as if he should have learned things like that in kindergarten. "You've got to be able to see through people."  
Once Cyn escorted Joe back to the table, he proceeded to relate the tale of how "Cyn totally saved his fucking ass" to everyone else, gesturing wildly as they handed him another beer. Brendon, already long gone, lead the cheer for Cyn, and loaded everyone up with another round to celebrate.

Once the rock stars left the club, everybody but Andy and Cyn was at least a little tipsy. They staggered and sang down the sidewalk, hanging on each other and scaring lonely people into crossing the street, lest they be caught up in the drunken shenanigans. Cyn and Andy did their best to try and shepherd everyone along as well as they could, but it was like herding cats. It wasn't long before Joe accidentally brushed against a very large, muscular man, who stopped and shoved Joe.  
"Watch it." The huge man growled as Joe tripped away.  
"No, you watch it." Cyn snapped, glaring at him as she squared off, sizing him up.  
"What'd you say, kid?" He breathed, stepping forward.  
"You heard me, asshole." Cyn narrowed her eyes slightly, unfazed when the man stepped right up so they were chest-to-chest, with him glaring almost straight down at the teenager, their faces almost touching.  
"I think you'd better watch you mouth, shrimp."  
"I think you'd better watch your step." Cyn retorted, shoving him back a half step.  
The man shoved Cyn back, enough to make her take a step back to avoid losing her balance, and Cyn used the new space for the windup to hit him in the jaw with a left hook, sending his head snapping up and back.  
He shoved the girl even harder, but Cyn held her ground, even as he geared up to take a swing of his own.  
But before he could land the shot, Cyn brought her foot up, nearly doing a vertical split, to connect with the side of his head. The thug dropped, his legs crumpling weakly under him as he hit the pavement with a thud.  
Cyn glanced at the side of her sneaker, then spit on it, scowling as she rubbed the blood off the white rubber edge onto his parachute pants.  
"You don't shove my friends, and you don't shove a girl." She told the unconscious guy, then turned towards her friends.  
Jon, Spencer, Joe, and Brendon were so wasted that they cheered, and Pete was grinning a little as he clapped along confusedly, but Patrick and Ryan weren't as drunk, and Andy wasn't drunk at all. They looked surprised and uncertain, as if unsure how to react.  
Cyn just shrugged off the look they were giving her and continued off down the sidewalk, the guys trailing in her wake as they followed her back to the hotel.


	5. Chapter 5

The next morning saw everyone bored as hell once they got over their hangovers. They had hours to waste before Cyn and Panic! even had to sound check, so, as usual, they congregated wherever Pete resided; this time, in the hotel room he shared with Joe.  
"Ok, never have I ever... tried drugs." Andy grinned, and everyone but Cyn put a finger down. It wasn't the most exciting game, but it was the sneakiest way the guys could think of to learn more about Cyn without asking her outright - she was too good a liar, anyway.  
"Umm, never have I ever... seen a Disney movie." Cyn nodded, everyone dropping a finger as they bemoaned her depravity.  
"We'll fix that." Pete assured the girl, completely serious.  
"Never have I ever kissed a guy." Patrick smirked, and Pete, Ryan, Brendon and Cyn each put a finger down.  
"Never have you ever kissed a girl, either." Brendon muttered mutinously, and Patrick whacked him with a pillow.  
"Yes, I have!"  
"Umm, never have I ever... shit." Pete muttered. "Umm, Ooh! Turned down a dare."  
Patrick, Andy, and Ryan all put down fingers.  
"Never have I ever tried to kill myself." Brendon grinned at Pete, knowing he was toeing a very delicate line.  
Pete rolled his eyes as he dropped a finger, then realized Cyn had quietly put one down too. He stared at her for a moment, hoping to catch her eye, but she was casually looking anywhere else.  
"Never have I ever done a flip." Spencer said, and Joe, Andy, Pete, Brendon, and Ryan all put down fingers.  
"I'm out." Pete sighed.  
"Same." Jon nodded.  
"Me too." Brendon chimed in.  
"Never have I ever smoked anything." Patrick said proudly, and Joe dropped a finger, scowling and muttering about dirty players.  
"Out." The guitarist grimaced, crossing his arms.  
"Never have I ever even tried a sip of alcohol." Cyn smiled, and Patrick and Andy both dropped a finger.  
"Details." Andy glared halfheartedly at the girl sitting on Patrick's other side.  
"Never have I ever gotten a tattoo." Patrick grinned.  
Andy and Cyn each dropped a finger.  
"Never have I ever swam in the ocean." Cyn grinned triumphantly.  
"Shit." Andy dropped his last finger, and Patrick was only left with one standing.  
"We'll fix that, too." Pete promised.  
"Never have I ever... umm..." Patrick frowned, trying to come up with something he knew would snag the kid. "Picked a lock?"  
Cyn dropped a finger, still looking confident even with just one left.  
"Never have I ever driven a car."  
"Damn." Patrick cursed, dropping his last finger.  
"I'd say we'd fix that, too, but the thought of you driving scares me." Pete grinned, and Cyn whacked him with a pillow.

Later, alone in her hotel room, Cyn was startled by a knock on the door. It wasn't the hallway door, but the one adjoining her room to Pete and Joe's Frowning in confusion, Cyn announced that the door was unlocked, still sitting in bed with her book. When Pete slipped inside and closed the door behind him, his face grave, a million terrible scenarios flashed through Cyn's mind; to her surprise, they mostly concerned one of the musicians being hurt as opposed to bad news for her career.  
Pete ambled over, taking his time before settling next to Cyn on the bed, staring as if he didn't know how to begin.  
"What's up?" Cyn finally asked, her eyebrows screwing together as she tilted her head slightly, the book tipping away from her.  
"Have you really tried to kill yourself?" Pete blurted out, looking the teen in the eyes.  
Cyn blinked, thrown off by both the topic and the bluntness, then closed her book. "Yeah."  
The pair sat in silence for a moment that felt like an eternity.  
"I tried a couple years ago. I overdosed on my Atavan." Pete confessed, staring at the bed as if he could see through it.  
"I tried four times, four ways." Cyn replied quietly. "Last time, my friend talked me down off the roof of a building. Before that, I tried cutting." She glanced briefly at the scars crisscrossing the inside of her left forearm and winced as if they still hurt. "Didn't go deep enough. Second time, I swallowed all my Atavan, too." Cyn shook her head and let her breath out in a rush. "I was ten when I tried to hang myself, but I let go of the wire when I passed out and woke up just fine." Scarred fingers touched the thin, long line just under the corner of her jaw on the side Pete could see. "Mostly." The bassist knew as well as the teenager that the scar was mirrored, nearly identical on both sides of her neck where the thin line had cut into the skin.  
Brown eyes shining with intense emotions as he stared, Pete whispered a question. "Think it was good luck or bad luck that saved you?"  
Cyn set her jaw, her mouth twisting into an ugly shape. "Bad luck. Nothing got easier. Nothing will. The only thing that changed is I've learned to let it go."  
"I know it was good luck that saved me." Pete said. "Otherwise, I wouldn't have Bronx, or Ashlee, or the guys, or you."  
"That's a pretty thought." Cyn deadpanned the reply so she wouldn't laugh. It was idiotic.  
"Don't you have something worth living for now?" Pete asked, sounding surprised.  
Cyn looked at him in disbelief. "Like _what_?"  
"The guys. Your music. A home."  
"I don't know. You guys are really all that's new to me. Stuff is stuff, and I've always had music. I think you guys are why I haven't tried again. But everything good ends. It's only a matter of time."  
"Everything ends." Pete agreed. "But new things come along. Good things."  
"Bad things, too." Cyn reminded him, though her gaze stayed on the comforter where it had fallen.  
"But there's always something good." Pete said, and Cyn looked up again, meeting his eyes.  
"You believe that?" She asked, sounding awed to Pete. Honestly, Cyn just couldn't believe anyone was so naive.  
"Completely."  
Exhaling in a rush, Cyn looked down. "Wish I did."

When the mob landed back at the airport in Chicago after a successful first gig for Cyn, Ashlee was waiting to meet Pete with Bronx.  
Pete's face lit up and he kissed Bronx's forehead, then his wife, and then took his kid, holding him close and talking to him while Ashlee put an arm around his waist and leaned her head against his shoulder.  
Cyn looked away as if just observing the airport, refusing to let the tears burning her eyes fall. She'd never have that, but she'd never wanted it so badly.  
When someone nudged her shoulder, Cyn only jerked a little as she looked up and saw Joe, offering a can of his beloved purple Monster. The teenager grinned halfheartedly, taking the can, and Joe clinked his own blue one against it before both took a swig.  
"Thanks, Joe." Cyn smiled crookedly, and Joe ruffled her hair affectionately in reply. His own grin widened when she swatted his hand away halfheartedly, unflinching.

"Kid, the guys at Decaydance brought up a good point the other night when we were talking about you." Pete began cautiously during a quiet afternoon with him and Andy, killing the TV as credits rolled on the DVD. That wasn't good.  
"Yeah?" Cyn asked, feigning disinterest as she looked at him, hyper aware of Andy sitting on her other side. He was strong and fast, and if she had to bolt she'd have to remember that.  
"We know you're a minor, but they're letting that slide." Pete sighed tiredly, the teenager scowling. "But they do have to make sure you get a formal education. What grade did you leave off at?"  
Cyn stared at Pete for a second, mouth slightly open as she was unable to mask her shock, then started laughing. That was possibly the last thing she'd expected.  
"I think she's lost it." Andy observed, snickering at Pete's exasperated expression.  
"No, not yet." Cyn choked out, calming down, though she kept snickering. "I'm done with school, though."  
"How are you done with school? You're a kid." Pete frowned sternly, but Cyn waved a careless hand.  
"I'm done. You can call the school and ask them." Cyn rolled her eyes, careful to keep her posture casually confident; she didn't really want him doing that.  
"Where'd you go?" Pete narrowed his eyes, obviously gearing up to do just that. He'd pulled out his phone, ready to Google and call the school.  
"Barrington Academy." Cyn shrugged, eyeing Pete, wondering if he was really going to do it. "Nice name for a ghetto school, right?"  
Pete raised an eyebrow suspiciously, then focused on his phone. "It's a real school." He admitted a moment later.  
"Yeah, I'm calling to find out about one of your previous students, Cyn." Pete said, after holding for a good 10 minutes. "No, no last name. That's her! Can you like, summarize her history there for me?"  
"Aw, Pete, you sound so responsible." Andy smirked, and Cyn even tried to smile along, but she was too anxious. She really didn't want Pete talking to that school.  
Pete had been sitting in silence for a good minute, his eyebrows raising and looking more and more stunned, staring at Cyn hard.  
The teenager shrank down on the couch between between the pair, wincing. Of course Pete would have called her bluff, and now he was going to know things.  
"Hang on a sec." Pete said, and held the phone away from his ear and putting it on speaker. "Could you repeat that from the beginning?"  
The person on the other end of the line sighed. "Cyn transferred into Barrington Academy at the beginning of fifth grade with no previous academic records." A woman's bored, nasally voice said. "She was tested, skipped grades 6 and 7, and moved straight into eighth grade. There are dozens of records of disciplinary action for fighting off school grounds, and she was court ordered to meet with the guidance counselor once a week due to issues in her home life. Academically, she excelled, graduating as valedictorian last year.” The nasally voice finally stopped yammering, and Cyn exhaled in relief.  
“Thanks. Bye.” Cyn hit the ‘end call’ button on Pete's phone, scowling darkly and glaring at Pete, daring him to say something. “What?”  
“Why aren’t you in college?” Andy asked testily, breaking the silence.  
“Homeless kids don’t get scholarships.” Cyn snorted derisively. “Especially minors with no parents to sign the form to ship them off to school, anyway.” Cyn shrugged as if shaking off an unwanted touch, a bit more violently than she should have when just acting careless. “’Sides, who needs college? It’s for losers who think a few more years of chemistry will get them somewhere.”  
“But… you’re some kinda genius.” Pete said slowly.  
Cyn blinked at him, staring as if he'd reminded her that the sky was blue. “Well, duh. I had to be. It’s not easy, being on your own when you’re that young. I had to learn fast and have a lot of common sense.”  
“You don’t have any sense.” Andy rolled his eyes.  
“That’s actually helpful, too.” Cyn nodded in agreement. “Run first, think later.”  
“Just what have you been through, specifically?” Pete asked. Cyn always knew this question would come up, some way, some how - it always did, when talking to someone who wasn't like her - but she’d always tried to avoid it.  
Cyn sighed, knowing that this wasn’t something to play games about.  
“I’ve had heat stroke, hypothermia, tried suicide several times, I’ve been shot, I’ve been raped, I’ve been beaten and left for dead, I’ve had bounties on my head, and I’ve sold people out to the vice to keep my own safe.” Cyn admitted, looking at the floor. “I've let people die so I wouldn’t get killed myself.”  
There was a beat of silence.  
“Fuck.” Andy finally breathed.  
“Yeah.” Cyn agreed quietly, nodding as she stared at the ground. “The streets were rough, but it was better than where I came from. I had a family, for a while.” Nostalgia turned the corner of her mouth up in the ghost of a smile. “I miss them, sometimes.”  
“What about us? Aren’t we your family?” Pete asked, and Cyn looked up at him in surprise.  
“You guys’re awesome, but…” Cyn shook her head. “Trey and Jamie are the ones who always had my back.”  
“You talk about them a lot.” Andy remarked, a question in his eyes.  
“I was 10 when I got to New York. I knew not to trust anybody, but I couldn’t protect myself. Jamie found me, started looking out for me. He taught me how to take care of myself. I found Trey about a year after I wound up with Jamie, and the three of us stuck together, took turns bringing home food for the day. We watched out for each other, kept each other sane.” Cyn held Andy's gaze evenly. “They can look out for themselves, but… I wonder how they’re doing, sometimes.” The teen frowned a little. “I’m a little worried about Trey; he never was the most careful about who he talked to or what he said, and Kyle said he disappeared.” She suddenly rubbed hr eyes vigorously, then sighed. “I hope he’s ok.”  


“You’re going on tour with us.” Ryan announced, bursting into Cyn's apartment with Joe and Brendon hot on his heels. Cyn was in a fighting stance, face contorted in a silent snarl, as soon as she heard the doorknob rattle, but she was standing normally again by the time the door bounced off the wall. The doorknob fit nicely into the hole it had made, leaving the door stuck open until Joe pulled it shut behind him.  
“Really?” She raised her eyebrows, glancing at each of the men as she turned her back on the open book on the counter. She’d been leaning on her crossed arms on the counter, too engrossed in the text to take it and her tea to the sofa.  
“Really, really!” Joe grinned, making a sudden motion as if to scoop the girl up, but he froze when she tensed, deciding to back off.

*

Halfway through tour, the bands rolled through Oklahoma on their fancy tour buses.  
Cyn stared intently out the bus window, statue still, well aware that Pete was watching her as she stared at the scenery flashing past the tinted glass.  
“Holy shit, look at that.” Joe gaped, pressing his face to the glass as they rolled past mansions - huge ones, borderline castles.  
“Yeah, this is the nice part of town.” Cyn nodded absentmindedly, her voice quiet as she kept her blank gaze on the scenery. “Nice houses, nasty people.” She mumbled under her breath, her eyes darkening though her expression remained neutral.  
“Is this your hometown?” Pete asked, studying the singer.  
“It’s where I’m from, yeah.” Cyn replied evenly.  
“Did you ever talk to your parents, after you left?”  
Cyn finally tore her gaze away from the mansions, meeting Pete’s eyes. "Yeah. For the first 8 months, they emailed me every day. Apologizing, begging me to come back, saying we could compromise if I’d just come home.” Cyn shrugged carelessly with one shoulder. “I deleted every one after I read them. Never replied. Eventually, the emails were coming once a week, once a month, then I got one that said they were sorry I was gone, and they’d ‘laid my soul to rest’.” She barked a harsh laugh that startled Andy out of his daydreaming on the couch. “I replied to that one. I was downright nasty to them.” Cyn shook her head, grinning viciously at the floor. “I thought about going back, once or twice. On the bad days.” She admitted, her gaze flickering to her scarred arms, hidden by a long sleeve t shirt. “Then I realized I’d rather be homeless than like them. Maybe I’ll swing by, see what my folks have to say to my face.” Cyn's face contorted into an expression so twisted it took the men a moment to realize it was a sarcastic smile  
“Wait, you could’ve gone _back_?” Patrick butted in, setting his vdeo game controller on the floor. “You didn’t have to put up with living on the streets?”  
Cyn looked him dead in the eye, her gaze cold but determined. “I’ll take the weather, I’ll take the hunger, I’ll take my own life, but I won’t ever be like them.” Joe and Pete looked something like proud.  
“I can’t believe you’d do that. It’s incredible. Leaving your friends, your family, your home just for what you believe in?” Patrick shook his head. “I don’t think I could do that.”  
Cyn shrugged again. “Run first, think later.”

“Wait, are you telling me one of those fucking castles we passed was your _house_?” Pete all but shrieked a few blocks later.  
Cyn barely twitched her shoulders, obviously sick of the topic. “Yeah, I was a spoiled rich kid, got everything I wanted minus the free will.” She glared out the window, even though she couldn’t see the house. “Fucking assholes.” The teen growled under her breath venomously, then glanced at the boys out the corner of her eye. “I’m gonna have to visit my folks while we’re here.”  
“We’ll go with you.” Joe said, after a contemplative pause.  
“No.” It came out harsher than Cyn intended, surprising even her, and everyone flinched as she stood up, the bus engine cutting as we pulled into the venue’s lot.  
“Why shouldn’t we?” Joe asked testily, standing up, too, so he could look down at the teenager, his arms crossed across his chest.  
“Because they wouldn’t get along with you.” The singer spat, glaring.  
“Because you get along with them so wonderfully.” Joe rolled his eyes. “I’m at least going with you.”  
“No one is coming, especially not you.” Cyn informed him, eyes narrowing in a dare for him to challenge her.  
“Really? Why?” Joe cocked an eyebrow, as if daring her to come up with a childish answer. Cyn could’ve sworn he looked hurt for an instant, but it was quickly covered by his impatience.  
“They’re fucking Nazis, you’re _Jewish_ , Joe!” Cyn's fuse finally went. “They’ll _kill_ you!”  
“Aren’t you exaggerating a little?” Pete asked slowly, trying to defuse the situation.  
“Only half of what I am came from the streets.” Cyn said darkly, then turned on her heel and left the bus, fleeing the stunned silence.  
“Cyn, wait! Where’re you going?”  
The singer ignored the shouts, closing her eyes and exhaling in a rush as she strode down the sidewalk, hands in her pockets. As she made it into town, Cyn passed more people, ignoring them as she loped past the familiar facades of overpriced boutiques and specialty stores. All those hoity-toity rich people places she’d once taken for granted. The teen refused to make eye contact with the people she passed, the passersby she’d grown up around stopping and staring, suddenly pale, as if they’d seen a ghost.  
In a way, they had. Cyn wasn’t the little kid who’d peacefully protested the ideals of her parents and town anymore; she was a kid who’d left with no intention of coming back with her tail between her legs, she was a kid who’d given up everything to live the way she believed was right. As a child, Cyn had turned to streets full of gang violence and rapes, suicide and shootings, to be free of a life of hating the world around her.  
Cyn slowed as she walked down the street, pulling out her phone but ignoring the texts from the guys. She knew at least one of them was following her, but it would be easy to ditch the dodo if she felt like it. Scrolling through the contacts, Cyn looked for one she’d never used before. It was a number that had cropped up in one of the few emails she’d answered several years ago. She’d never given her number, not even when she got a phone, but Cyn had this one. She’d stayed in touch with a friend back home through monthly emails. He was the only person in this town who knew Cyn was even still alive; even though he had no idea where Cyn had been or who she was now.  
Cyn finally stopped walking, turning to lean back against a brick building, kicking one foot up against the wall as she raised the phone to her ear. A movement from the direction she'd come from caught her eye, and she saw two men clumsily duck around a corner, retreating.  
Brendon and Joe, Cyn thought she might have even seen Ryan with them.  
The young girl chose to ignore them for the time being, then closed her eyes tight as a familiar, curious voice asked ‘Hello?’ not recognizing the number.  
“Blaise? It’s Cyan.” Cyn whispered.


	6. Chapter 6

Five minutes after Cyn ended her phone call, a figure hustled around the corner across the street, head ducked and shoulders hunched as he shuffled from the opposite direction Cyn had come from. The teen watched the figure like a hawk, but glanced occasionally over her shoulder, casually pretending she didn't see the men on her tail as they ducked sloppily out of sight.  
“Blaise!” Cyn's voice was warmer than it had been in years, even though it broke, as she hugged the figure when he reached her.  
“Cyan, do you know how much I’ve missed you?” Blaise replied quietly, swaying on the spot as he held his friend close for the first time in years.  
“Not as much as I’ve missed you.” Cyn grinned crookedly as she broke away, eyeing her friend to see how he'd changed. “And everyone calls me ‘Cyn’, now.”  
“Where’d you go? Where’d you come from? How’d you get here? Why’d you come back?” Blaise started spouting questions, knowing he would finally get answers, but Cyn clapped a hand over his mouth.  
“You really haven’t changed.” The teen grinned crookedly at her friend, feeling him smile under her hand.  
“Not like you, ‘Cyn.’” He teased when the singer finally uncovered his mouth.  
“You have no idea, sweetheart.”  
“Are those creepy guys watching us?” Blaise suddenly narrowed his eyes as something caught his gaze over Cyn's shoulder.  
“They would be my so-called friends, who decided to stalk me for the safety of myself and my parents.” Cyn rolled her eyes with a scowl, but even Blaise knew that it was halfhearted. “Brendon, Ryan, Joe, stop being creeps and get your asses over here or back to the bus!” Cyn yelled over her shoulder, turning towards them.  
The pair saw Brendon take off for the bus, but Ryan grabbed him by the back of his shirt and hauled him along as he and Joe strode forward, caught red-handed. It was comical, really, watching the slightly shorter, much skinnier Ryan drag Brendon around.  
“Wait, I know them,” Blaise said slowly. "They're in those bands..."  
“Yup.” Cyn sighed, hooking her arm through Blaise's and marching him to meet the three men in the middle of the smooth sidewalk.  
“Cut it out, Brendon. I can’t kill you.” Cyn rolled her eyes as her fellow singer insisted she was going to murder him.  
“’Cause you love me, right?” He perked up, smiling at Cyn happily.  
“No, your fangirls would lynch me.” Cyn scowled, shaking my head. “They can be vicious.”  
Brendon’s face fell comically as he sagged in Ryan's grip, nearly toppling them both. “But…but… what about all the laughs, the Monsters we shared? I thought what we had was special!” He wailed, breaking Ryan's grip by dropping to his knees and wrapping his arms around Cyn's legs, pretending to sob theatrically into her jeans.  
"Get off." Cyn shook out of his hold, nearly climbing away from his grabby hands, situating herself between her friends and Blaise without even seeming to realize she was defending him.  
Blaise stepped around the defensive woman, casually dropping an arm around her shoulders as he surveyed the man on the ground skeptically.  
“When did you get taller than me?” Cyn mused at her friend, making him snicker, white teeth flashing in contrast with his dark skin.  
“We’re all taller than you, sweetheart.” He gestured at the three other musicians, grinning wickedly.  
“Yeah. Even Pete is.” Cyn scowled in agreement. "But I'm still a decent size."  
“More like bite size.” Blaise winked.  
“What would you do if I did bite you?” Cyn teased, shoving him a little, then looking at Ryan and Joe as Brendon hauled himself to his feet. “Guys, this is Blaise.”  
“Hello.” They replied together, slightly coldly. Cyn just raised her eyebrows, somewhat amused.  
“He’s gay.” Cyn elaborated flatly, grabbing his left hand and holding it up so her friends could see the rainbow terrycloth wristband Blaise wore proudly.  
“Ok.” Joe grinned, visibly relaxing, and Ryan looked relieved. “I was worried about having to give you ‘the talk’.” Joe snickered.  
“Do you realize how horribly I would hurt you if you even mentioned ‘the birds and the bees’?” Cyn asked in disbelief, crossing her arms and popping a hip.

“So, what have you been up to for nearly a decade?” Blaise asked as the posse walked aimlessly down the street..  
“It can't have been that long.” Cyn mused with a frown, taken aback. “No, wait, you’re right.” She thought back, recounting seasons as the years had blurred together. “Dude, I’m an adult!”  
“You’ve been one since May.” He informed the singer.  
“Shit, have I really? I forgot when my birthday was.” Cyn admitted sheepishly.  
“You’re the oddest person I’ve ever met.” Ryan shook his head at Cyn sadly.  
“You’re pretty odd yourself.” She retorted, Brendon giggling as Ryan's expression twisted into a scowl.  
“Clever.” He replied dryly, and Cyn stuck her tongue out at him.  
“You know you love me.”  
Ryan heaved a dramatic sigh. “That I do.” He admitted sadly.  
“Anyway, where’ve you been? What’ve you been doing?” Blaise repeated eagerly. Cyn hadn’t been telling him much in her emails; she hadn’t wanted her friend to worry.  
“I hitchhiked to New York city. I lived there until Joe and Pete found me playing guitar in Central Park and brought me back to sign me.”  
“When did you learn to play _another_ instrument?” Blaise asked, rolling his eyes.  
“I taught myself when I got the guitar.” Cyn twitched a shoulder, not wanting to say much on the topic. “It wasn’t hard, really.”  
“You never had a problem learning an instrument.” Blaise sighed enviously. “You got those expensive classical lessons, I just got a puppy.”  
“I’d rather have the puppy.” Cyn informed him, and Bliase stuck his tongue out in reply.  
“What’d you learn to play?” Ryan asked Cyn, intrigued. She'd never really talked about her life before New York.  
“Eh, I had lessons on the classical stuff, branched out on my own.” Cyn kept her expression and tone neutral, but her eyes were clearly warning everyone to back off the topic.  
“But what instruments?” Brendon interjected as Ryan opened his mouth.  
“Violin, piano, and cello.” Short, honest answers would keep the men from pestering Cyn, and give them less to ask about.  
“I kinda understand the cello.” Brendon grinned at Cyn, trying to find common ground and keep going.  
“It was so big this idiot locked me in the case, once.” Cyn rolled her eyes, nodding at Blaise, who giggled.  
“Tell me about New York!” Blaise nudged Cyn's shoulder with a wide, envious grin. “I’ve always wanted to go. Is it like in the movies?”  
Cyn hesitated for the briefest second, thinking her answer over carefully. “Yeah, it’s just like the movies.” She began slowly. The movies with all the violence and horror, she amended silently. “The city lights are beautiful at night, and New Year’s is always a party. Skating around Christmas time is fun, and you won’t ever get bored.” Cyn shook her head a little, a sincere smile faking its way across her lips. “I met two guys there, and we stuck together. Trey and Jamie, they’re great. Jamie showed me around the city, and I showed Trey.”  
“New York sounds great.” Blaise sighed, completely entranced.  
“It was better than here.” Cyn agreed, smiling crookedly at her friend, unaware of the disbelieving looks her fellow musicians were giving her.

“I can’t wait to start senior year.” Blaise stretched, crossing his arms behind his head as he walked. Cyn remembered when he'd first started doing that; Kingdom Hearts had just come out, and Blaise had immediately started emulating Sora - even with the big shoes and baggy pants. “Are you looking forward to finishing up your education?”  
Cyn just shrugged, trying not to comment.  
“You always hated school.” Blaise nodded sympathetically.  
“I don’t… go to school anymore.” Cyn finally admitted, staring at the sidewalk.  
“You dropped out?!” Blaise nearly screeched, jerking to a stop. He'd never grown out of wanting to cause a scene, apparently, because he waved his arms as he dropped them fro behind his head, flailing to keep his balance.  
“Well, no, see-”  
“You promised you wouldn’t! You told me that you’d stick it out!” Blaise accused.  
“I told a lot of people a lot of things.” Cyn snapped defensively, shoulders hunching as if she had hackles to raise. “But I didn’t drop out, ok? I just… never mind. It’s none of your business.” She settled again, looking away as she exhaled a deep breath. This was neither the time nor the place to bring back her street self.  
“Why not? You’re my best friend!” Blaise glared hard as everyone started walking again.  
“I know.” Cyn replied quietly. “But I don’t want to talk about school, ok? I hated it, and… I get embarrassed.”  
“Why would that embarrass you?” Joe finally asked. He was the only one who knew how her high school career had ended because Pete and Andy hadn't kept their mouths shut.  
“In case you haven’t noticed, I’m not much of one to talk about myself.” Cyn mumbled, trying her hardest not to snap again.  
“You never were.” Blaise sighed, lips pursed.  
“She graduated early as valedictorian.”  
“Dammit, Joe!” Cyn snapped in more ways than one, glaring at the man.  
“Why didn’t you just tell us you were a genius?” Ryan asked, raising an eyebrow as Cyn scowled, turning and marching onward after no one said anything in the silence following her outburst.  
“Because I don’t like bragging.” Cyn retorted mulishly as she stomped along.  
“It’s not exactly bragging if we ask.” He reminded the girl, grinning a little, and her face softened slightly.  
“Yeah, but still.” Cyn shrugged. “I still don’t like it.”  
He sighed dropping his arm across Cyn's shoulders as they walked. “You’re the first person I’ve met who’s _too_ modest.” He teased.

“Are we going where I think we are?” Cyn finally asked, perking up slightly after the uncomfortable silence.  
“Yup.” Blaise grinned happily.  
“This’ll be fun.” Cyn's grin was cold, and Blaise's mimicked it with eerie similarity.  
“You’ll see when we get there.” Cyn winked, answering Joe's unspoken question as he opened his mouth.

“Here it is. Your very own rock.” Blaise gestured grandly as the bunch approached one particular headstone.  
“When I said I always wanted a rock, I meant the shiny, used-to-be-coal kind.” Cyn mused, then winked at her old friend. “Then again, ‘flashy’ was never my style.”

Cyan Rachelle Steelle  
May 12, 1993 – June 6, 2003  
Though we will never know where your bones truly rest,  
We’ll hold you forever in our hearts  
And our love will weather Time’s great test.

“Aww, Blaise, that’s sweet.” Cyn simpered exaggeratedly and kissed his cheek.  
“How’d you know I came up with that?” He mumbled, dark cheeks blushing.  
“Because you write sweet, bittersweet things like that, about love and loss and time and tests.” Cyn's smile faltered. "Or at least, you used to. Do you still?"  
“It's been a long time." Blaise's voice was soft. "I can’t believe you even remember that.”  
“I’d never, ever forget about you.” Cyn latched onto Blaise with surprising strength, holding him as if she were trying to squeeze years of hugs into one. Her friend sniffled loudly as he clutched her back.  
“I missed you.” Blaise whimpered, and Cyn shushed him, because old habits die hard, and you don't cry if you want to live on the streets.  


-*-

After Blaise had gone home and the other had returned to their bunks for the night, Cyn turned in early. She'd made excuses about it being a long, draining day for her, and no one had said anything about her out-of-character behavior. Just to be sure, she really did go to sleep early. As predawn light tried to sneak around the edges of the bus' blackout curtains, Cyn slid off the bus. It was far too early for the rest of the guys to be up.  
Smiling, Cyn sighed in relief when she quietly shut the bus door, then jumped about a mile when a hand rested on her shoulder. She instinctively started forward, noisily body slamming the bus and staggering back a step, twisting gracelessly to face her assailant.  
“Jesus, Joe, don’t do that!” Cyn gasped, teeth on edge, head ducked defensively and shoulders raised. He was already dressed, obviously waiting for her to sneak out. Taking that information in, Cyn's shoulders drooped loosely and she straightened a bit.  
“Don’t sneak out.” Joe teased, grinning. “Where are you sneaking off to, anyway?” He asked, cocking an eyebrow. Cyn could tell he knew, he just wanted to see if she’d be honest.  
“Well, there’s a visit I have to pay.” Cyn shrugged vaguely, shifting her weight and taking a half step to the side, trying to slide around Joe.  
“I’m coming with you.” Joe said softly. “You’re still a minor - maybe? - if they try to keep you, you can’t leave.”  
“So you’d kidnap me?” Cyn grinned crookedly, trying not to be so serious.  
Joe sighed. “No, but… I’m just going with you, ok?”  
Cyn tilted her head slightly, studying him. “I don’t want them to hurt you.”  
Joe just kept grinning. “They won’t.” He tousled her hair, then linked arms with the girl as they set off for her parents’ house.

When the duo finally reached the ornate front door, Cyn rolled and squared her shoulders, taking a deep breath and letting it go in a rush before twisting her head to crack her neck, first one way, then the other. Then she remembered something.  
“Did I really…?” Cyn trailed off, pulling the chain from around her neck. It was the one with the skeleton key for back home in New York, and the key to her apartment in Chicago. And the little brass key that opened this particular door.  
She was wide eyed, revulsion beginning to crease the corners of her nose, as if she smelled rotting meat. “I kept it?” Cyn breathed, incredulous, undoing the claps and removing the brass key, re-hiding the chain and other keys beneath her shirt. For a brief moment she studied the vaguely familiar contours of the shining teeth, then clenched her fist around it hard enough that the metal bit into her palm, shredding the skin raw but not drawing blood.  
Then Cyn used that fist to knock on the door.

When one of the oak double doors swung open, a butler stood there. Cyn recognized him, but he didn’t remember me. She’d hated him as a child, and stayed well away from him.  
“Fetch the Steelles, for me, sir.” She sneered, remembering how to be a rich snot to make him listen. It was disturbing how the tone, the mannerisms came back so easily after spending so many years trying to bury them. Cyn nearly choked on the oily voice that didn't belong to the woman she'd become.  
“Of course, Madame. Would you like to come inside?”  
“No, thank you, I wish to keep this visit brief. I fear they will find my company to their distaste. I wish only to return something of theirs.”  
“Very well, Madame. One moment, please.” The butler shuffled off to ‘fetch the Stelles’.  
“I’d laugh if you weren’t so serious.” Joe mumbled, but Cyn's face remained decidedly blank.

“Good morning, Madame, Reynolds has informed me you have something to return-” The bald man’s words died on his lips as he caught sight of the two oddballs standing in the doorway, and his wife froze behind him, her peroxide blonde hair bouncing slightly from her sudden stop.  
“Cyan?” She breathed, manicured claws reaching for her lips, stopping just in time to not smudge anything.  
“I figured you’d want this back instead of me selling it to some burglar.” Cyn shrugged, then extended her still-clenched fist. Despite her posture being decidedly relaxed and careless, her knuckles were white around the key.  
The man automatically held out his hand, and Cyn dropped the key into it as he blinked repeatedly.  
“Why didn’t you come back?” His voice was suddenly hoarse, and it took him a long moment to lower his extended hand. He seemed unaware that it was now his knuckles that were white around the key.   
“Because I’m not a Nazi.” Cyn growled, a shoulder shifting up slightly before dropping again.  
“We’ll let you be friends with whoever you want, but please, come home for good. We miss you.” Mrs. Steelle cut in.  
“No. I can’t stomach your intolerance for people who look and believe differently from yourselves.” Cyn cocked her head, nose wrinkling again. “And I won’t have you drugging me anymore.”  
Mrs. Steelle’s face crumpled, and Cyn entertained the possibility of feeling bad until the Skinhead directed his attention at Joe.  
“Who are you?”  
“I’m Joe Trohman.” He answered tonelessly, not wanting to start a fight but not wanting to make friends.  
“How do you know our daughter?”  
“I’m not your daughter.” Cyn interjected. “This isn’t my home. It never was. We never loved each other, and you didn’t miss me.” She followed her challenge with a level gaze, knowing it would pierce like a bullet. “You felt guilty, and you were upset because your wife couldn’t have another child. I was a one in a million chance, and I was your biggest mistake.”  
Mr. Steelle studied the girl on her stoop intently, even sadly, but didn’t argue.  
Cyn narrowed her eyes slightly, nodding in understanding. “You never wanted me, anyway. You wanted a kid you could raise to carry on your sick Reich.”  
Them man nodded slowly in return as tears slid down his wife’s face.  
“Hey, M- Mrs. Steelle, don’t cry.” Cyn mumbled, expressionless ice thawing slightly as the older woman started sobbing, then ran off.  
“She’s crying because you’re right.” Mr. Steelle admitted.  
“I know.” Cyn sighed. “She always did that.”  
Mr. Steelle smiled, barely. “She still does.”  
Cyn re-set her face, void of emotion again, and the man's smile slipped as they stood in silence.  
“I don’t want there to be bad blood between us anymore.” Cyn's voice was soft, meeting his gaze after looking at the doorjamb for a moment.  
He nodded. “You always were very mature for your age.”  
Cyn swallowed a bit, then glanced up at him. “I won’t be coming back, after this.” She informed him, not liking the hollow note in her tone. Joe put his arm around her shoulders, and Cyn leaned into him, drawing comfort from his closeness.  
“I think that’s best.” Mr. Steelle agreed quietly. “Do you have a legal guardian?”  
Cyn shrugged carelessly. “Not really. It doesn't actually matter.”  
“Actually, that’s one of the reasons I wanted to come with you.” Joe cut in, Cyn stopped breathing as Mr. Steelle shot him an inquiring look.  
“I… want to adopt her.” Joe finished


End file.
